The Age of Pope

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G. Bell, 1896 - 258 sider
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Side 110 - I hear a voice, you cannot hear, Which says, I must not stay ; I see a hand, you cannot see, Which beckons me away.
Side 89 - The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; And let me catch it, as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts,...
Side 45 - There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl The feast of reason and the flow of soul...
Side 82 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! How passing wonder He who made him such ! Who centered in our make such strange extremes.
Side 220 - Sir, he was a scoundrel, and a coward : a scoundrel for charging a blunderbuss against religion and morality ; a coward, because he had not resolution to fire it off himself, but left half a crown to a beggarly Scotchman to draw the trigger after his death...
Side 117 - Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome — at an inn.
Side 148 - She was a very beautiful woman, of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all the wildness of her transport which, methought, struck me with an instinct of sorrow, that, before I was sensible of what it was to grieve, seized my very soul, and has made pity the weakness of my heart ever since.
Side 32 - Oft she rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride...
Side 82 - An heir of glory! a frail child of dust! Helpless immortal! insect infinite! A worm! — a god! — I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost!
Side 82 - A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost. At home a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast. And wondering at her own. How reason reels . O, what a miracle to man is man ! Triumphantly distressed!

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